Every year at Christmastime—at least for the past twenty years or so—I dream of hanging a Dodgers World Series Championship Christmas ornament on the nine-foot Monterey Pine in my mother’s formal living room. Usually I’m listening to the radio or scrolling through Twitter when the vision dances through my head like <quote-01>sugarplums<quote-01>. I imagine briefly the heavenly peace of that contented December: bundled in a handsome new satin jacket, a championship hat atop my head, barely paying attention to baseball’s annual Winter Meetings. The height of this little reverie—where my anticipatory joy is at its zenith—is the loving placement of this little ornament, eye-level, front-and-center.
In the hours that followed that final called strike, I debated the merits and modes of a hundred different keepsakes, even the authentic cap and official championship documentary (high-crown or low-profile? Blu-ray or digital?). The only item I didn’t think twice about clicking into my shopping cart was the <quote-02>ornament<quote-02>; it could have cost a thousand dollars.
When the confirmation email hit my inbox later that night, I took stock of the estimated delivery of each purchase, but especially the ornament: “This item is expected to arrive by Tuesday, December 29, 2020.”
“Bummer,” I thought.
The very next day, however—the day of those first Santa Anas—I received an update: “This item has not yet shipped but should arrive by Tuesday, December 22, 2020.”
I literally pumped my fist.
And last Tuesday, ever true to their word, the good folks at FedEx delivered my 2020 World Series Champions ornament at exactly 12:32pm. I know this because I’d set a delivery notification way back in October, and the dinging of the text message woke me. I sent one of my own to both Kristen and Conch before rolling back to the middle of the bed: “<quote-03>Can one of you grab the mail please? Important delivery!<quote-03>”
At around three or so, Grammar and I headed down.
Most of the other memorabilia had arrived in bunches and bundles—packages teeming with shrink-wrapped tees and hoodies or bubble-wrapped mugs and shot glasses—but the ornament was by itself, the cardboard box <quote-04>essentially weightless<quote-04>, the word “fragile” stamped upon it twice.
“Go watch TV with Grandma,” I told Grammar with a gentle shove. “I’ll be right back.”
“Ok,” he said.
Sitting down cross-legged on the living room carpet, I carefully sliced the packing tape with my house key and unfolded the cardboard flaps to reveal an unbroken surface of foam peanuts, white and still, not unlike untrodden snow. I removed them each one by one until I caught my first glimpse: baseball-sized, decidedly Dodger blue, halos of the white and gold beneath the golden ornament cap. The same gold replaced the standard red of the MLB logo; the iconic “LA” nestled itself beneath the “M” and “P” of “CHAMPIONS.” Many moments in life do not merit our anticipation of them; this one did. I extracted it from its unremarkable paper packaging and held it aloft by its loop of golden elastic thread. I smiled with my mouth closed, not how I do for photographs but how I do when I’m actually moved.
“<quote-05>Gorgeous<quote-05>,” I whispered. “Wait until you see this!” I hollered toward the family room.
“Huh?” Grammar shouted back.
I righted myself and shuffled to the family room, cradling the ornament in the palm of my throwing hand, but more like a living thing than like a baseball.
“Behold!” I announced dramatically, holding my treasure on high, “<quote-06>the first gift of Christmas!<quote-06>”
“All right!” went Conch.
“What that is, Daddy?” Grammar asked.
“Come and see!” I said, turning back towards the living room and the awaiting Monterey Pine. But as I did so, I noticed for the first time a little plastic tag affixed to the ornament loop, like a thin sticker folded onto itself. I stepped up into the dining room and paused on the parquet floor, just adjacent to the dining room table around which we all have sat so many Christmases. I attempted wedging a fingernail between where the two ends were stuck together but then thought better of it, figuring what I needed was an ornament hook to slip into the fold of the sticker, into the needle’s eye of daylight beside the gold thread. I was thinking too of the photo I’d snap for The Dodger Thread, of the accompanying message I’d compose explaining how hanging such an ornament on the Christmas tree has been a lifelong dream of mine. I continued into the foyer, toward the ponderous Magnavox console stereo where our Annalee Santa Claus has sat every Christmas of my life, toward his little felt mailbag where we keep spare twinkle lights and extra ornament hooks. And as I motioned for Grammar to grab me one, <quote-07>I just—lost it<quote-07>.
You’re both familiar with the sound, I’d imagine, <quote-08>like a crystal balloon popping into a thousand tinkling fragments<quote-08>. As much as I love the sound of a burnt-out Christmas bulb exploding on asphalt, I despise the sound of a dropped Christmas ball. The sound of screwing up is what it is. The sound of something precious entrusted to you gone forever.
I didn’t even say anything, I was so stunned—I who am so quick with an expletive.
Grammar must have thought I’d asked him to follow for just this purpose because he searched out the only remaining shard of hemisphere and tossed it back to the ground with a squeal of delight. When he looked at me for approval, however, he saw only dejection.
“Oh,” he said, only as he does when he realizes someone else is sad, a quick three-syllable sound like “uh-oh-ooh.”
“Oh no!” Conch added from her recliner in the other room.
Grammar looked down to the remains and then back up at me. “<quote-09>Don’t—don’t worry, Daddy<quote-09>,” he tried. “We can—we can glue it back together!”
I exhaled audibly. “I don’t think so, bud,” I said. “Please go be with Grandma for another minute, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, wandering back toward the family room.
“Thank you,” I said to him over my shoulder, shaking my head just afterwards in something more like disappointment than disgust, something like embarrassment. I hadn’t at all perceived that I was about to lose my grip—no fumble, no last-second grab, nothing. Some bits were pulverized almost to dust.
Finally it came: “Fuck!”
“Fuck!” echoed Grammar in the other room.
<quote-10>I winced<quote-10>.
“Nice one!” went Conch.
“Nice one,” I admitted. “Nice one, Murph,” I thought.
But then, as I went to fetch the dustpan and broom, I realized that Grammar—in a way—was right: right about salvaging the wreckage, right about creating something meaningful from the stuff of ruin. I could do just that—we could, the three of us—one last time.
And yet, it’s only now, inlaying this final piece of mine, that I step back to really take it all in.
What a fine mosaic we’ve made from the fragments of this broken year! Christ, what a gift you’ve both given to me!
I’ll cherish it always. <quote-11>Merry Christmas<quote-11>.
<pull-quote>ornament<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I got one too! And a Urías jersey. Two pieces of memorabilia that are ever-usable: I'll always hang an ornament, always wear a jersey.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>christmas morning over here! well, afternoon—in true murphy style. don’t tell me how to not celebrate christmas the murph way if i so choose!<p-comment>
<p-comment>sarah got me the world series trophy ornament. first time i saw it was when pat posted a photo of his on the dodger thread, commenting on how it’ll require a thick branch. our tree this year, standing tall atop the piano, is too small to handle the weight, so i’ll place it at the base along with our small collection of jim shore santa ornaments, also too hefty for our little tree. it’ll go well next to brooklyn dodger santa.<p-comment>
<p-comment>i’ve yet to remove the tag—think maybe i’ll leave it on.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>Can one of you grab the mail please? Important delivery!<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>it’s your dodger christmas ornament! go get it yourself!<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>A) They were both up.<p-comment>
<p-comment>B) Conch was likely sitting twenty feet from the door.<p-comment>
<p-comment>C) I’d probably gone to bed around 7 after getting Grammar down around 3<p-comment>
<p-comment>D) Fuck you, Wuck.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>essentially weightless<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Like a blessing, a prayer.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>Gorgeous<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>This is such a part of the Christmas movies I'm re-watching now with Abram. Ralphie often whispers his awe open-jawed. Kevin McCallister's "Whoa" at the window watching Old Man Marley salt the sidewalks is such a moment. I wonder how much you have been formed by this litany of Christmas films you watch every year. I mean, did you mean it the way I hear it, Murph?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>“Absolutely,” I whisper.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>the first gift of Christmas!<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I remember I got Grammar his first Christmas gift with this in mind: the Polar Express silver bell inside the white/red striped box. And signed it, The First GIft of Christmas. I wanted to send it early that year, so it could maybe, just maybe, truly be the first Christmas gift of his life.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>This is very touching, bud. From now on, let’s just say it was.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>I just—lost it<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Man, this happens to me more as I get older. I drop stuff, and I'm like...why? I wasn't tossing it, playing with it. I just--lost it.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>What. Is. Happening. To. Us?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i haven’t been dropping stuff, but you know what i have been doing more and more? slicing my hand open with our chef’s knife, usually while washing it. last night—christmas eve—it happened while i was separating english muffins for our chirstmas breakfast casserole (nana’s recipe), a real chef’s-knife task, opening english muffins (fork-split much? asshole). i opened up the inside of my left pointer finger. hurt like a mother-fucker, blood everywhere.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>like a crystal balloon popping into a thousand tinkling fragments<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>At first I was like, uh, no, never heard that. Then I closed my eyes and heard an ornament/bulb bursting, and YEP: the sound of a crystal balloon popping.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>My man.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>Don’t—don’t worry, Daddy<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>My godson. Bless his soul.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Yeah. He really does have it in him.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>I winced<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>atta boy.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>Merry Christmas<pull-quote>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>merry christmas, murph! merry christmas, hoke!<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Christ is born! Alleluia, alleluia.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Alleluia, alleluia!<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>you guys fucking serious right now?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>No midnight mass this year, bro. Let us have this.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote><pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote><pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote><pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<p-comment><p-comment>
<hr><hr>
The rich text element allows you to create and format headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, images, and video all in one place instead of having to add and format them individually. Just double-click and easily create content.
Static and dynamic content editing
A rich text element can be used with static or dynamic content. For static content, just drop it into any page and begin editing. For dynamic content, add a rich text field to any collection and then connect a rich text element to that field in the settings panel. Voila!
How to customize formatting for each rich text
Headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, figures, images, and figure captions can all be styled after a class is added to the rich text element using the "When inside of" nested selector system.
The rich text element allows you to create and format headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, images, and video all in one place instead of having to add and format them individually. Just double-click and easily create content.
Static and dynamic content editing
A rich text element can be used with static or dynamic content. For static content, just drop it into any page and begin editing. For dynamic content, add a rich text field to any collection and then connect a rich text element to that field in the settings panel. Voila!
How to customize formatting for each rich text
Headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, figures, images, and figure captions can all be styled after a class is added to the rich text element using the "When inside of" nested selector system.
What’s a Rich Text element?
The rich text element allows you to create and format headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, images, and video all in one place instead of having to add and format them individually. Just double-click and easily create content.
Static and dynamic content editing
A rich text element can be used with static or dynamic content. For static content, just drop it into any page and begin editing. For dynamic content, add a rich text field to any collection and then connect a rich text element to that field in the settings panel. Voila!
How to customize formatting for each rich text
Headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, figures, images, and figure captions can all be styled after a class is added to the rich text element using the "When inside of" nested selector system.
<pull-quote>sugarplums<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I really gotta find and taste one of these things. Abram and I have hit Tchaikovsky's ballet hard this month: I know chocolate, marizpan, coffee, snow. But these legendary sugarplums? Next year.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Bro. Let's!<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>never had one. will they be as satisfying as my first turkish delight—offered all the guys by you, hoke, during the mariner’s game—i wouldn’t wonder.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Since first learning of its fabled power reading The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe as a boy, your first taste of Turkish Delight was from me in a baseball stadium? Love it.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>